Melissa Rossi won a Student Academy Award for her university thesis film. That success prompted her to move to Los Angeles to begin a career as a writer/director. But she wasn’t ready.
She writes in to discuss what she wishes she had known, and what she’s doing differently to be ready the next time.
Back in 2005, I won a Student Academy Award for the thesis film I made at the Florida State University Film School. I had just moved to LA, just learned the real meaning of traffic, and had just added the word IKEA to my vocabulary. While I had the utmost confidence in actual technical filmmaking — I felt comfortable holding a boom pole, scheduling a film, and working with actors — I knew very little about the industry itself.
So after the exhilarating experience of winning a Student Academy Award, when I was contacted by twenty or so agents, managers, and producers all interested in seeing my short film, I think it’s fair to say that I was pretty out of my element.
The awards themselves were a dream come true. I was given the royal treatment during a celebratory week of lectures, dinners, and discussions. I met some amazing industry professionals, and made visits to the Academy, the DGA, and the ASC. It was an incredible honor, a huge ego boost, and an experience I know I will never forget.
Then, there was what came next.
Whether on the phone, or in person, literary agents and the like all wanted to know the same thing. There was some small talk and some congratulations, and then, always, always, THE QUESTION: “So, Melissa, what else do you have?”
This stopped me in my tracks. What else did I have? I had a solid short film and…a bunch of ideas?
Luckily (or so it seemed at the time), I had managed to outline and write around twenty pages of a feature spec script between graduation, the big move to LA, and my very first industry internship. True, my short film was a musical comedy, and this was a family adventure/science fiction film (and an astronomically high-budgeted one at that), but it excited me, and everyone that I pitched it to seemed to like it, so I thought, why not? I didn’t have much else to go on.
So I told them all about it. Of course, they asked when they could see it. The truth was, I had never written a full length feature script before. I didn’t even know if I could do it, let alone, when it would be done.
I gave myself eight weeks.
Writing for your life
Then I scrambled like mad to make it happen. I referenced all my screenwriting books, watched my favorite films in that genre, and wrote for hours every day. It was fast, furious, and the thought of becoming a real writer made my heart pound like it never has. I silenced the voice in my head that told me I had no idea what I was doing, and just did my best. I ended up with 118 glorious pages of action, dialogue, and sluglines, and after pulling an all-nighter making last minute tweaks and triple checking for typos, I drove to Beverly Hills on a Friday morning, bleary eyed and frazzled, and started handing out my very first screenplay.
One manager who had shown particular interest in me said he would read it over the weekend, and I should come back on Monday morning. I was elated, terrified, and exhausted. When I met him that next Monday, I was beyond nervous. The past weeks were a blur and I had no idea what he would think.
“You have a very nice little script here,” he said. Hmmmm. Interesting word choice.
“Have you ever thought about writing a comedy? You know, like your short film?”
Uh-oh. While I feel like he was relieved by my first attempt (I’m sure he’s seen worse), it was just that. A first attempt. And a rushed one at that. Looking back, not only was it FAR outside my genre, but deep down, I knew it could have been better. I knew it wasn’t 100% ready. But I felt like if I hadn’t given him something by my own self-imposed deadline, I would have blown this seemingly once in a lifetime opportunity.
Guess what? I sort of blew it anyway.